


Risky Business

by vix_spes



Series: Fire in the Blood [2]
Category: Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, The Three Musketeers (2011), Young Blades (2001)
Genre: #RareMeat, #Youngboots, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Hannibal Extended Universe, M/M, Public Sex, Rare Pairings, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 12:54:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20046361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: He's so close to having everything he's ever wanted, so why is d'Artagnan risking it all for the Captain of Richelieu's Red Guard?





	Risky Business

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stratumgermanitivum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/gifts), [victorine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorine/gifts), [Ishxallxgood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishxallxgood/gifts), [exarite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exarite/gifts).

“I would be quiet if I were you,” the words were growled in d’Artagnan’s ear, sending a shiver through him. “Unless you want your precious Musketeers to know what you’re up to.”

Despite the threatening words, d’Artagnan couldn’t help but moan quietly. He didn’t know that he wanted his potential colleauges – Athos, Porthos and Aramis – to know what he was up to yet, at the same time, he found it difficult to remain silent when Rochefort was provoking him, wanting to hear the sounds that he could pull from d’Artagnan.

When he had been living on his parents’ farm in Gascony, d’Artagnan’s eye had always been drawn to the girls in the village, never the boys. Okay, maybe the blacksmiths apprentice had drawn his eye once or twice, but that had been it. He had certainly never expected to come to Paris to join the Musketeers and end up as the personal bed-warmer of one of their mortal enemies. Yet, there was something about the Captain of Richelieu’s Red Guard that drew d’Artagnan in like a moth to a flame.

The Comte de Rochefort.

The man was an unmitigated bastard. That had been apparent from their very first meeting. He had actually had the gall to insult Daisy and, if there was anything that d’Artagnan wouldn’t stand for, it was people being rude to his beloved horse. He hadn’t expected to see the man again but, of course, he had had a run-in with the Red Guard and their Captain had turned up. d’Artagnan hadn’t expected the man to force him to his knees and make him suck his cock, but the biggest shock had been how much he had enjoyed it.

No, he hadn’t just enjoyed it. He relished it. Craved it.

There was something about it – about the Comte de Rochefort – that d’Artagnan needed.

After the first time of having Rochefort’s cock down his throat, d’Artagnan had done everything that he could to try and avoid the man. He was confused. Why was he suddenly attracted to another man? And not just any man, but a man who was renowned for his poor treatment of people, for his sadistic tendencies. Certainly, Rochefort had shown that he liked inflicting pain on d’Artagnan. What had been an even bigger surprise was that d’Artagnan enjoyed it. He liked being pushed around, liked being forced. He even liked the pain; it sent his pleasure spiralling higher.

It guaranteed that he would keep coming back for more.

Then again, after their second interaction – in a tavern in an area of the city that his mother wouldn’t be happy seeing him in – d’Artagnan had known he wouldn’t be staying away. There was something about Rochefort that fired up something in d’Artagnan, something that had set his pulse racing and blood pumping through his veins, burning him up from the inside. It was addictive. The taste of Rochefort’s cock, the way that it felt pounding in and out of him. He couldn’t get enough of it. Yet, it was only Rochefort’s cock that he wanted. He received plenty of offers, plenty of catcalls from men on the street but he wasn’t interested in them. He only wanted the Comte.

The sentiment seemed to be returned. Rochefort couldn’t seem to get enough of d’Artagnan and nowhere seemed to be off-limits. d’Artagnan had found himself bent over in numerous locations in the Palais-Cardinal. Rochefort’s desk had seen frequent use, as had several stables around the city. Now, it seemed as though it was the turn of that hallowed ground; the fabled training grounds of the Musketeers in the heart of the city.

There had been a scuffle at the entrance to the Musketeers training ground. Some of Richelieu’s Red Guard had been passing and decided to offer their opinion on the Musketeer’s technique. Suffice to say, it hadn’t been well received. Despite Captain Treville’s best attempts, taunts had been offered and blows thrown. d’Artagnan had managed to get in a few hits himself before a hand had wrapped around his arm and dragged him away into the shadows. d’Artagnan’s initial instinct was to struggle, to fight against it, but then he realised that the strength of that grip was familiar. It was the same as the one that manhandled him over desks, onto beds, to his knees whenever he was in the vicinity of Rochefort and he relaxed slightly.

He tensed mere seconds later when Rochefort shoved him up against the wall of the training ground and proceeded to unfasten his breeches, shoving them down his thighs. This was new. Well, not the Rochefort manhandling d’Artagnan in public spaces; that was all too frequent. What was new was just how public this was. And in daylight hours as well. Still, it did add a frisson of _something _and d’Artagnan could feel his cock start to show and interest.

“I would have thought you would have learnt by now not to antagonise my men and I. Must I remind you again?”

“Don’t make out that it’s a hardship, Monsieur le Comte.”

The sound of the first smack rang out loud and clear in the air and d’Artagnan couldn’t help but tense, not from the pain but from the volume. He was paranoid that somebody would hear the sound and come investigate. Yet, as always, Rochefort clearly knew what he was doing. Rather worryingly, he was also very familiar with the training exercises of the Musketeers. Every single hit to d’Artagnan’s arse was timed so that it happened at the same time as the clash of swords from the training ground, the sound of flesh hitting flesh masked by the ring of steel on steel.

As usual, Rochefort didn’t stop until it felt like the skin of d’Artagnan’s arse was on fire, every single inch of it tingling and stinging. Even then, he only stopped to fill d’Artagnan with his cock, not bothering to prepare d’Artagnan and merely oiling his cock. Not that it bothered d’Artagnan. He relished the burn as he was split wide around Rochefort’s girth. He also liked the way that Rochefort didn’t wait for d’Artagnan to adjust, he merely took what he wanted. He thrust in and out of d’Artagnan, taking what he wanted as though d’Artagnan was nothing but a toy for Rochefort’s pleasure. Not that d’Artagnan was complaining. Instead, he relished the way that he could feel Rochefort’s hipbones colliding with his abused flesh with every thrust, feeling his pleasure spiral higher and higher.

And then Rochefort started talking.

“My little Gascon whore. So eager for my cock that you don’t care where I take you. What do you think your precious Treville and his Musketeers would think if they saw you like this; hungry and needy for my cock.”

d’Artagnan came with a moan, the scent of leather and Rochefort in his nostrils, clenching around Rcohefort’s cock. He was rewarded by the sound of a quiet groan and bite to his neck as he felt Rochefort spend within him, filling d’Artagnan with his seed. He didn’t say anything else but, when d’Artagnan had gathered himself and pulled his breeches back up, Rochefort was nowhere to be seen. Still, he knew that he’d see the man again sooner rather than later.

d’Artagnan did his best to walk straight on somewhat wobbly legs as he made his way back into the training ground. He really hoped that Treville – or the other Musketeers - wasn’t going to be watching him too closely, because there was no way that d’Artagnan was going to be able to concentrate properly with Rochefort’s come slowly leaking from him.


End file.
